Spinner

by Ron Elliott

‘That bloody O’Toole. Stitched us. Take some wickets. That will shut him up. Lots of folk are starting get on your side anyway, mate, if only on account of him being so mean-spirited. Which reminds me, I better show you some batting too. If just so you can get a knick on it. Anyway, I’ll be bright an’ early after play today, don’t worry about that.’ He stood to attention and did a silly salute, saying in a funny voice, ‘Reporting as ordered, Sarrr.’ When David smiled, he said, ‘Well, go get ’em, tiger. You couldn’t take five wickets today, could you?’

  ‘Five!’

  ‘Not to worry. Be a good bet is all.’

  ‘Um, I don’t know about that, Uncle Mike,’ said David, feeling like he was letting him down. But he couldn’t help it. He was less sure now because of his finger, and he couldn’t be sure how they’d bat now they’d seen him bowl. And there were the other bowlers. They could take more. No one could know. Even Grandad couldn’t know that.

  ‘Forget it. Enjoy, matey. Enjoy.’

  His uncle limped down the hall, leaving David feeling flat, as though he’d just received bad news, even though he hadn’t.

  After an hour of play, when Ten Ton and Calligan had failed to take a wicket, Richardson finally gave in to David’s begging and let him bowl. Dorrington and O’Malley seemed well set with England no wickets down for forty-eight runs.

  ‘So same field against O’Malley?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You think he’ll fall for it twice?’

  ‘No sir, but I want him to think that’s what I might try.’

  ‘And this you also discussed with your grandad back on the farm long before you got here?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We’d talk about the different ways to get them out, and then if you’d bowled one way, what they might do next.’

  ‘Like a bit of chess, really.’

  ‘No, sir. I don’t play chess.’

  ‘Let’s not make this our habit again please, Mr Richardson,’ called Mr Wisden.

  Richardson set the field to O’Malley as he had in the first innings.

  McLeod went into silly mid-off again. ‘How ya goin’, all right there, Bill?’ he said to O’Malley as he took up his position.

  David stood at the start of his run-up, and held the ball in his leg-spinner grip. He whispered, ‘Donald looks down on O’Malley, the two men set. He moves in to bowl.’ David saw where he’d land it, in a footmark. Saw the change of direction. He bowled, and really got some spin on it, the ball whirring in the air outside leg stump. O’Malley came forward, bat and pad close together, ready to drop the ball, even though it was so wide. The ball hit the edge of the roughed area and spun. It spun a lot. It spun back towards the stumps and behind O’Malley’s bat, crashing into leg stump.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ said the other English batsman, Dorrington.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mr Wisden, standing next to him. ‘Hit a crack, I’d say.’

  O’Malley was walking off, shaking his head.

  The Australian players were approaching David, but slowly.

  Baker said, ‘That’s the furthest I’ve ever seen a ball spin in my whole life.’

  Maud McLeod patted him on the shoulder. ‘Did you fellas hear the noise—like bees.’

  Calligan said, ‘Well Babe, more milk for you tonight.’

  Tanner nodded, clapping from a distance. Hall was shaking his head, but not looking at David.

  Ten Ton finally reached them from his boundary position. ‘Who’s shellin’ these peas?’ He clapped David on the back, sending him spinning, before Baker caught him and set him upright again.

  ‘Easy, Ten Ton. Let’s not kill the golden goose just yet.’

  ‘So,’ said Richardson, with an eyebrow raised, ‘what do you and your grandfather have in store for Mr Longford?’

  Longford was an elegant back-foot player. He liked to stand tall, giving himself a good look, and often cutting to the off side. David’s grandfather thought he was always a possibility for a slips catch, if you could get a ball to rear up higher or lower as he was attempting to cut late. But David wanted to get him leg before wicket.

  Dorrington was down the other end dabbing at the footmark where David had landed his previous ball, looking for the crack.

  David and Richardson set the field, with three slips, a prominent mid-on and Hall at short fine leg. Longford was paying special attention to Hall. David felt that he needed to do another ball like the one that had got O’Malley. It was what Uncle Mike had said when he was trying out for the team. He could make Longford and Dorrington, and therefore the rest of the team, think he could bowl those any time he liked, even though, with his finger, he probably only had a few in him. It would put Longford’s mind in that frame too, while David tried the real get out ball.

  David stood at his mark.

  Longford stood tall, and nodded to David. ‘Morning, Mr Donald.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Longford,’ called David.

  ‘All very bloody pip-pip here then,’ called Hall.

  Longford took his guard.

  David whispered, ‘And it’s the moment we’ve been waiting for. Donald to Longford.’ David saw the arc, saw the spin. He stepped in and bowled. The ball arced with nice height, and landed just on the edge of the footmark, where David had intended. Longford took no risks however. He stayed back, waiting. The ball hit the pitch, but didn’t spin as much as the previous delivery. David’s finger hadn’t let him rip it. Longford came at the ball with bat and pad, but was a little surprised by the bounce, still managing to drop it to the ground. It went between Baker and Hall, and Hall had to lumber after it. Longford ran two runs.

  David was glad he’d scored two, and was facing again, so he could keep setting his trap. Longford would look at you, David, his grandad had said, as he’s careful and values his wicket. While he’s looking, that would be the time to get him.

  David stood at the top of his mark. He looked towards slips, then out to point. It was important, for this trap, to not move point yet. He needed to show Longford his stock ball. ‘Donald eyes the pitch. Longford is ready, easy in his stance.’ David stepped in and flighted another high one, landing it straighter this time. Longford started forward, but then stepped back, his bat lifted, as the ball spun away towards the slips. Longford had his bat covering it the whole way. He probably could have cut it as it bounced at a useful height. David watched him nod, and practise a cut.

  David yelled, ‘Mr McLeod, a little straighter please.’

  Longford watched McLeod move to cut off some future cut. Longford eyed the gap between McLeod and extra cover. David would do it now. He stood watching where he’d land it and imagining the ball. ‘Donald is waiting. Longford eyes the field.’ David moved in and bowled. The ball was a little lower than the previous delivery, but looked similar and Longford went back. But this ball dipped a little, which made Longford adjust his cut shot, as he waited for the spin. It didn’t come. David bowled his arm ball and the ball held its line going straight for the stumps. Longford tried to get his bat back towards it, but couldn’t move in time. The ball hit Longford’s pads right in front of the wicket.

  The Australian team went up in appeal. Richardson started running forward from second slip. Mr Wisden was shaking his head.

  David turned. ‘Lbw,’ he shouted.

  ‘Not out,’ said Wisden from behind his stumps.

  ‘It was going to hit the stumps!’

  ‘David, that’s enough,’ called Richardson still advancing down the wicket.

  ‘But it was the arm ball. It was out leg before wicket.’

  ‘David. Silence!’

  Richardson took David by the shoulder. ‘The umpire’s decision is final. That’s it. Bowl your next ball.’

  ‘But it was out, Mr Richardson.’

  ‘Lad, I think so too, but the umpire must have had doubts. So, according to the rules of cricket, Longford isn’t out. Lucky him.’

  ‘That’s unfair. I set the trap.’

  ‘Set it again. Get on w
ith it. Or get off this field,’ said Richardson sharply, as he turned and walked back to slip.

  David blew the air from his lungs as he tried to calm himself. He became aware of the crowd. They were complaining too. David wiped his forehead and felt sweat there. It was another hot day with no wind. He looked to Longford, who was watching him with interest. He walked back to his mark. Jackson threw him the ball, calling, ‘This time, Babe.’

  David hated that nickname. He should have had Longford, just as his grandad and he had planned. What must he be thinking now, if he was listening on the radio? David stepped in and bowled, and Longford stepped forward two good steps and hit the ball way over David’s head. Six. The crowd groaned, but then clapped.

  ‘Nice shot,’ called Dorrington.

  David bowled too flat next ball and Longford hit him past a diving McLeod for four. Ten runs he didn’t deserve already. David should grab his cap from the umpire at the end of the over, as he’d heard some disgruntled bowlers had done on occasion, only he didn’t have one. The team hadn’t even given him a cap. As he waited for Hampton to get the ball from the gutter, he wondered should he ask Richardson about getting a cap. All the other Australian players had green caps with the Australian coat of arms on them.

  David tried for the rough again, but missed the spot and Longford hooked him for four more. He blocked the last delivery and David started to walk away with one for fourteen off his first over when Richardson called, ‘David, go and stand with Chalkie. Stand next to him for the entire over.’

  McLeod came on to bowl, and David went to Mr Johnson. ‘Why do I have to come and stand with you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Are we both in trouble, do you think?’

  David felt stupid, standing right next to Mr Johnson, but Dorrington blocked the first couple of McLeod’s medium pacers.

  ‘I’ve taken a wicket. I should have had two.’

  ‘And I’ve scored some runs,’ said Mr Johnson, watching the wicket as he talked, ‘Hundreds and hundreds.’

  Dorrington stepped in to McLeod’s third delivery and hit it towards the mid-wicket boundary. Hall gave chase.

  ‘Just not now?’ suggested David.

  ‘That’s what I’m wondering. Why did you bowl so many bad balls after bowling so many good?’

  David thought about that during the rest of the over. Even when Longford hit a single and Mr Johnson ran after it, and David ran after him, causing the crowd to laugh. He kept thinking about what had gone wrong. Then he knew. He had not done anything right. He had not thought about what he was going to do, and had not done it well. He’d bowled nothing balls, because he’d thought nothing.

  ‘But it was out, Mr Johnson.’

  ‘I didn’t think so. I thought it was going to spin like your other deliveries and miss off stump.’

  ‘It was my arm ball.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had an arm ball.’

  ‘I do.’ But David settled down again. ‘I have to get the umpires to understand.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I think you should think about the next ball, not what happened to the last.’ He gestured towards the surrounding crowd. ‘They can think about what’s already happened, and we can too if we want, but later. After. While we’re playing we must always be in the now and in the next and not in the was.’

  David nodded when Mr Johnson looked at him, but couldn’t make his team mate’s words stick in his head. He understood the meaning of each word, but the way Mr Johnson was putting them together made it add up to something else that David couldn’t untangle.

  ‘The was,’ said David hopefully.

  ‘Yes. Mr Richardson is possibly suggesting that I’m also thinking about what’s happened and not about simply dealing with the next ball myself.’

  ‘The next ball?’

  ‘He’s clever, but I don’t think he’s that clever. I think he just wanted me to settle you down. Go and bowl like you have been before you got all angry and silly.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  It was David’s next over. He was bowling to Dorrington, the stylish opener. He and Grandad had worked out a plan. Dorrington was a left-hander, and so offered many more options. The footmarks would allow David to spin the ball in to his wickets.

  Dorrington suddenly called, ‘Do your worst, baby!’

  ‘Oi,’ yelled Hall, ‘go make up your own nickname.’

  David concentrated. His finger felt pretty good. He’d be patient with Dorrington, but would have to open up mid-off to encourage the drive. David asked for a fly slip as well, because Dorrington liked to sweep and was likely to catch a top edge with David’s extra bounce. He asked for a short third man. He imagined the ball. ‘Donald to Dorrington. No love lost there. Dorrington eyes mid wicket.’ David stepped in and bowled a flatter, faster leg break. He’d intended it to be a set-up delivery, with not much on it, so that he’d get a catch later in the over by giving him a topspinner. But for some reason Dorrington flashed at the ball awkwardly and too early. The ball popped up and Hall took the easiest of catches at gully.

  The players ran up, including Hall this time. ‘Nice nut, Babe.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it,’ said David.

  ‘Don’t tell them that,’ said Baker.

  ‘It wasn’t a good ball.’

  ‘They’re getting scared of ya,’ said McLeod.

  ‘Yep,’ said Bardsley, ‘He’s been standing up the other end watching all these mystery balls and he’s...’

  ‘Shit himself,’ laughed Hall.

  ‘Hmm, quite,’ said Richardson, more seriously. ‘So, same field as before for Windsor.’

  ‘He’ll try to dominate me,’ said David.

  Windsor did not. Longford and he had a long discussion when he came to the wicket, and whether it was that, or another plan, David was unsure. Windsor refused to play at most of David’s deliveries. He stepped towards the pitch of the ball, as though ready to crash them to the boundary, but merely watched them spin towards slips. When David tried his arm ball, Windsor blocked it. When David bowled from the rough, he merely padded the ball away, keeping his bat high and out of the way.

  ‘Careful there, Eddie, you might have got a run,’ muttered Jack Tanner, as the over finished.

  Longford went after McLeod. He hit a four then a three. Next ball Windsor lashed out, hitting McLeod on the up towards the extra cover boundary, where Ten Ton stood and took a catch just before the pickets. He spun to face the crowd, quite daintily, in order not to overbalance. Windsor was out for a duck, bowled McLeod, caught Hampton.

  Everyone ran to McLeod.

  ‘Mopsey. Gutsy ball.’

  ‘Gotta keep flyin’ the flag for us country boys.’

  ‘Call ya Babe Senior soon.’

  ‘Get stuffed.’

  Bishop was coming out. England were three for sixty-five. They were still in a comfortable position to win the game, but as shaky a start as they’d had for some years.

  Bishop and Longford both played carefully. Bishop blocked and prodded, even when David came on for his next over. When he edged a single, it was the first ball he’d tried to hit, rather than defend.

  David got prepared for Longford, setting his field and clearing his mind. Longford stepped back and cracked the first ball past point for four. When David tried his arm ball, Longford picked it, and drove hard and straight for another boundary.

  David saw a chance. He saw the ball that might do it. He bowled with good flight and height bringing Longford forward for another drive, but this was a good loopy. It hit the pitch and suddenly took extra speed and extra force. Longford tried to check the shot, but the ball kept rising at his bat and all he did was pop the ball up towards David. He grabbed at it, but the ball hit the hard part of his left hand below the thumb. It bounced out and up. It was still there in the air in front of him. Only David couldn’t seem to move his feet. He watched it drop ever so slowly all the way to the ground. There was an enormous groan from everywhere.


  Tanner called, ‘You might be wanting to buy a lottery ticket, Henry.’

  ‘Some days make up for the other days, don’t they?’ Richardson said with wise smile.

  David was looking at the ball on the ground. All the planning and a good ball too, and still it hadn’t worked. Even he should have caught that. He looked at his hands open in front of his nose. His finger was slightly swollen, coming up again. He shook it, thinking he didn’t have long before he couldn’t bowl that day.

  Mr Johnson was there. He’d run in a long way to pick up the ball and hand it to David. ‘So, David, lucky that’s in the past, eh?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He felt a pat on his back.

  ‘While you’re there Chalkie, come in to extra cover. Maud, silly point. Ned, leg gully.’

  David turned. Mr Richardson was taking over the field. David was about to protest, but stopped. Richardson was dragging in the field. He was crowding them around Longford, close in. David thought about this. Longford had been given two lives. Had just given a return catch. He must be feeling the pressure. But this was Longford. The man had ice water in his veins, they said. What would he do?

  ‘All right with you, David?’ called Richardson, going to second slip himself, next to Bardsley at first.

  David went back to his mark, nodding. David looked down the wicket, whispering, ‘Donald to Longford. The field are in, waiting for a pop-up catch. Longford can defend here. Or he can attack.’ David would guess. He saw the delivery he’d bowl. He saw what he hoped Longford would do. He stepped in, glimpsed Longford starting to move early. No. David changed to bowl flat and fast, still spinning. Longford came down at it in two big bounds, but the extra speed beat him and the ball spun past his swiping bat. Baker took it in his gloves and swept the stumps. The team jumped. Longford stumped Baker, bowled Donald.

  Players ran at David. Chests and stomachs and big thumps on the back that made him cough. The crowd was a distant tumult of excitement. He’d got Longford.

  Richardson was talking, ‘Clever ball that one. Three moves ahead.’

  Maud McLeod grabbed David’s cheeks quite hard and yelled into his face, ‘You little beauty.’